The Sideways Rain Has Come

Now we are getting some serious weather, after days of warnings and dramatic predictions. Batten down the hedges! Here we go! El Niño! On Saturday we clomped around in our rubber boots, clearing some broken pipe from the creek below the house, then checking gutters and windows, making sure drain channels are unclogged. 

Yesterday Monte put up the big canvas coverings he mounts over certain windows when we are likely to get strong southerly winds from the sea -- that’s when the rain comes straight at us, horizontal, as it is right now. The fun part of the preparations is going into town, preferably Trader Joe's, to make sure our pantry is stocked. You never know when you might crave some salt and vinegar potato chips, cocoa with mini-marshmallows, or Italian wedding soup. One must anticipate all whims and be prepared.

I heard the rain beginning in the night, just a sporadic drop and drip, here and there, now and then. Gradually, though, there came the steadier drum of it, and then the pounding, and the thrash of wind. The ranch is already transformed. I look through a screened window densely beaded with glassy droplets and tiny meandering streams trickling downward like tears.

Beyond, the world is a mirage of green, as green as jungles, and wet, and in motion. The leafy treetops are more than just swaying; they are rocking about, bowing and waving in a frenzied sort of dance. The sky, or what I can see of it, is a luminous sort of gray, but there is a band of white light in the distance above the ocean, which from here is just a charcoal smudge.

It’s a noisy storm, its howls gusty, raucous, and incessant. Who knows what rotten old oak may be felled today, where the muddy hills will slide, which crossing may collapse? Jeanne and I had talked about going out for one of our exploratory rain walks later today, but at the moment, it seems harsh and forbidding out there.

There’s a standard greeting around here when a storm is coming: Make sure you’re on the right side of the creek! It’s a reference to the notorious Gaviota crossing by the state park (pictured above a few years back), which, given a day or two of unmitigated rain, will flood into a rushing muddy, branchy mess, guaranteed. That’s when you are either in or out, because the only passable connection to the 101 is the railroad trestle, and I tried that once. I knew for sure the trains were not running, but it was terrifying nonetheless. Trestle crossing? Not for me.

In the meantime, I am happy in this house. It’s warm and comfortable and Monte is home, and there are books to read, music playing, and the marvel of this laptop access to the whole wide world beyond.